


what else are you good for

by ancientgarbage



Series: scraps of Strider omo [3]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: An unnamed assailant fucks Bro, M/M, Mom Lalonde (Ro) is mentioned but not shown, Omorashi, This is some bad shit so. you've been warned I guess, Watersports
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-23
Updated: 2015-07-23
Packaged: 2018-04-10 19:36:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4404686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ancientgarbage/pseuds/ancientgarbage
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You push your way out of the bar, hands shaking. You’re desperate, you’re scared, so fucking scared, you don’t know what to do. What if you can’t get a job before the babies come? Shit. You’re tired as fuck and you feel like crying. You didn’t think job searching would be like this. It’s been such a long day and you have such a long walk home; it’s too late to catch a bus, you don’t want to waste money on a cab. You’re stuck walking home at midnight. </p><p> </p><p>or; With the babies on the way and Bro down on his luck with trying to find jobs, an unnamed man donates to his cause. For a price.</p>
            </blockquote>





	what else are you good for

You’ve been searching for jobs all day with no luck. You walked to every place you could, gave your resume to every place, even the most shadiest of places. You have fake IDs, so it’s okay. You put on your favorite hat and the most grown-up clothes you could find and went _everywhere_. Nothing. They smiled at you and shook your hand and you had been trying to hard to appear amiable and not freaked out. You really tried. You've been trying for months to land an actual job that'll keep you for more than a few weeks.

You don’t think anyone is going to call you back. You went out looking for jobs again today because you need to save money. There’s two babies coming barely a month away and you need money. Your odd jobs are good enough to get food, that’s it. Food for you and your bro. Not for you and your girlfriend and your babies. Not many places are going to hire a pregnant teen mother so you decided it was your job. Besides, Ro wants to still stay in school. You’re realistic and you know you won’t be able to stay. Only maybe if you landed a really good part time job. As if that would ever happen.

You push your way out of the bar, hands shaking. You’re desperate, you’re scared, so fucking scared, you don’t know what to do. What if you can’t get a job before the babies come? Shit. You’re tired as fuck and you feel like crying. You didn’t think job searching would be like this. It’s been such a long day and you have such a long walk home; it’s too late to catch a bus, you don’t want to waste money on a cab. You’re stuck walking home at midnight.

Blinking back tears, you start walking, legs trembling. You’ve had to piss all day. You’d been so busy going from place to place that you didn’t stop for lunch, you snagged an apple from a fruit stand for dinner before running off towards another place. You haven’t stopped until now and it’s really hitting you. You have to pee so badly. Normally, if you had to pee when you were outside, you’d go into a store, wait until you got home, or go in an alley. It’s too late for anything with a restroom to be open. It isn’t wise to go into alleys this late at night, especially in this area. The streets are lined with warehouses, clubs, bars, and run down buildings. Definitely not safe. You may be strong, but you’re exhausted and your pressing need would be your downfall. You don’t even have your sword. So you just need to walk home and hope you make it.

You have a feeling you might not be able to. You’re usually good with control. You always like being in control of the situation, but today has just been the exact opposite. Your bladder throbs in time with your heartbeat, a jolt shoots up with every step you take. Your jeans are digging painfully into your bladder. You clench your fists and keep walking, as swiftly as you can. If you can just get out of this neighborhood, maybe. Maybe… you can just piss in a less dangerous area.

“Hey, kid.”

Your heart jumps to your throat. Your bladder spasms and you have to stop a second to press your legs together. Hunched over just a bit, you see out of the corner of your eye an older teenager standing in the entrance to an alley. The alley is littered with trash and syringes. The teenager is grinning. It’s good natured, maybe a little hungry. His eyes are looking over you like you’re a prime steak. You think you might piss your pants right there in fear.

You don’t. You have more control than that.

You stare silently at him, trying to stand up straight, trying to look a little more intimidating and a little less like the kid you are. You fail miserably, your bladder throbbing angrily at you. You probably look like a mess right now. You were always scared this would happen, that you’d meet someone on the way home, real late, and they’d do something horrible to you. You guess tonight’s the night. Go figure.

“No luck job hunting today, huh?”

What the fuck? Has this fuck been following you the whole day? You narrow your eyes, even though he can’t see behind your shades. You think maybe he can see your eyebrows and the way your jaw clenches because he takes a step forward, holding his hands out in front of him like he means no harm. The light of the streetlamp illuminates his features. He’s not unattractive, but there’s a glint in his eyes. He’s planning something. He’s going to do something to you.

“Relax, relax. Come ‘ere.” You don’t move aside from what you hope are unnoticeable squirms. You want to run. You want to bounce on your heels and hold yourself tightly and whine to your brother about how badly you have to go. You do neither. The teen continues talking to you, stepping towards you until he’s right up in your face. He doesn’t smell like alcohol, but he does smell faintly like tobacco, the scent mostly covered up by cheap cologne. He reaches a hand out to you and you take step back, clenching your strained bladder muscles as you prepare yourself to run.

He grabs your wrist so quickly you don’t even get a chance. He pulls you against his chest and you struggle, trying to pull away, but he just holds you tightly. You’re so fucking weak and tired, you have no chance, you know this. You swallow down a scream because you know it’s useless. No one is walking down the sidewalk, no cars are coming down the street. You two are completely alone. Did he plan this? Did he wait all day knowing he’d be able to catch you like this?

In your barely contained panic, you feel yourself leaking and you gasp, trying to free your arms (he’s grabbed both of them by now to keep you from running), just one, you need to hold yourself, god. You let out the most pathetic whine, halting your attempts to get away as you cross your legs, leaning forward, against him. You don’t want to but he’s so close and you’re trying so hard to hold back the flood. Tears sting your eyes. You’re scared. He could kill you. You can't get away like this. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“Awh, shit.” He chuckles. “You have to piss? You’ve been holding it all day, I bet.” He hums, tilting your chin up. You say nothing, just gasp, taking shallow breaths. He lets go of one of your wrists and instead of trying to push him away like you should, you squeeze yourself as tightly as you can, groaning softly. “No time to let all that out when you’re scurrying around looking for jobs, huh?”

You curse him out under your breath. He just laughs, placing a hand on your back and forcing you into the alley. Not too fast, you can’t walk fast now, he seems to know that. Your heart feels like it’s going to leap out of your chest at this rate. Is he going to kill you? He doesn’t _sound_ like a murderer, but those come in all shapes and sizes, don’t they?

“What,” you swallow. Your voice is shaking way too much for your liking but you can’t get it under control. You’re too scared, you have to piss too bad. _So bad_. “Wh-what d’you want fr’m me?” Your voice sounds hoarse, slurred. He seems to like it because he smirks, keeping a firm hold on you. He turns you around so you’re facing him and he places his free hand on the wall beside your head.

“I think we can work something out, you an’ me. You need money, yeah?”

You say nothing. He lets go of your wrist only to slap the hand that’s been squeezing your dick away and cup you, squeezing even tighter than your tired hand was. You keep gasping. You can’t tell if you’re on the verge of a panic attack or because you’re so fucking scared or because you have to pee so bad. Maybe all three.

“Yeah?” He prompts.

“Y-yeah,” you manage, shaking all over. He’s stroking you through your jeans. You bite your lip hard, hands bracing on the brick wall behind you.

“How old are you?”

“ _Why_?” You spit out, trying to replace the panic with anger. For your insolence he frowns, slowly removing his hand and no, no! You need that there, you’re gonna -- “ _No_! I-I -- I h’ve t’go s-so bad --” The words tumble out without your consent. Your underwear is damp and you can feel yourself dripping again, slowly, _drip drip drip_. He laughs and shoves his hand between your legs again. You grind up and down on it, bouncing and wriggling until the drips stop and suddenly you know what he wants. He’s so close to you, hot breath by your ear. He bites down, you whimper, pathetic and broken. He places a hand on your chest, over your heart.

“Don’t be so scared,” he practically coos. You want to punch him. You hate this. You feel so sick with fear, you might just throw up. You hate yourself for what you’re doing. Are you a whore suddenly? “Just answer my question.”

“F-fifteen.”

“Young. But ‘s okay, we all fall on hard times.” He strokes you gently, then roughly, alternating back and forth. You feel dizzy, you just don’t know what to do. Your body is moving on its own at this point, anything to hold back the ocean inside you. It hurts so much. You don’t remember the last time you had to go this bad. “Gimme what I want and I can make it worth your while.”

“How?” It’s a breathy whisper.

“You’re gonna let me fuck you.” He bites down on your neck and you shiver, gasping. You keep gasping. “Then I’m gonna pay you for a job well done.”

It’s disgusting. You can’t lower yourself like this. But you crack your eyes open and see the wad of bills in his hand and you know he’s serious. That money could be yours and you could go home and show your bro what you made and he’d smile all relieved and happy for you. You’d tell Ro and she’d be happy too. You’d put it in the bank, the savings account for the babies. All for the babies. The babies who deserve a chance that you never got.

This is for the babies, you tell yourself as you nod slowly. He smiles, starts unzipping your jeans. He pushes them down quickly, giving you little squeezes until you’re out in the open, the cool night air making a spurt of pee shoot out just for a second, before your hands frantically squeeze until it dies down to a trickle, then nothing more than the occasional drip. You’re panting so hard and he’s barely done a thing.

He turns you over, presses you against the wall. Over the blood rushing in your ears you hear him undo his belt. A zipper. A rustle. His pants are down, underwear down. His dick presses against your ass.

“I can’t hold it,” you say suddenly. It’s true, but also an attempt to slow him down. You’ve never been fucked before. You’re shaking so hard you even hear him make a click of concern with his tongue. He leans in close, hands on either side of your head again, mouth by your ear.

“Hold it and I’ll throw in an extra fifty bucks.”

You don’t think you can hold it for even a second more. He starts stroking you, trying to get you to take the hint. He stops when you start stroking yourself, trying to get yourself hard. Can’t piss when you’re hard. Think of something, anything, anything but this. This is for the babies. Think of Ro, think of the hottest person you’ve ever seen. Your dick responds with a bit of delay because of your fear, but it responds. You can’t piss like this. The double signals your body is sending you are driving you crazy.

He thrusts inside without warning. He clasps a hand over your mouth to stifle your scream. Your eyes sting and tears finally fall from wide, orange eyes.

For the babies.

He went in dry. He keeps thrusting. You can feel something tear, then a warmth. The pain is a thousand times worse than you ever thought it’d be. You think this might be what being stabbed feels like. You keep moving your hands, touching yourself in all the ways you know make you feel good. You feel disgusting.

This is for the babies.

You come before he does (how, you don’t know, you really don’t know, nothing is hot about this) and right after you’re peeing full force, moaning and sobbing behind his hand. It feels so good, it hurts so bad, everything is too much, _it’s too much_.

He comes with a grunt, leaning on you as he shakes through his orgasm. You rest your head on the wall, hands in fists in front of you. When he pulls out, you collapse. You’re still peeing against the wall. There’s so much. So much.

He wipes off his dick on his sleeve and tucks it back in his pants. “You’re bleeding.”

You just wheeze. Whimper. Sob.

“You weren’t kidding when you said you had to go. Damn.”

You keep sobbing.

“C’mon.” He pulls you up by the back of your hoodie, your legs trembling so bad that he holds onto your waist to steady you. He even tucks you back in your pants once you’re finally empty. He slides the cash into your back pocket, slaps your ass. You inhale sharply, start coughing, choking on your sobs. This is for the babies. For the babies.

“Maybe next time you won’t bleed.” Next time. You want to scream. You don’t, can’t. “Clean yourself up and get on home, pretty boy.”

He walks out of the alley and disappears into the night, like a shadow, like a figment of your imagination. If you weren’t in so much throbbing, searing pain then you think you might have dreamt all this. A fever dream. It’s no dream. You spend about ten minutes sobbing in that alley, standing in a large puddle of your piss. It feels like a hand is squeezing your lungs. You desperately try to hold back your attack. Not here. You need to get out of here. You think you hear footsteps and you pull your pants the rest of the way up and run. You run and run and run and you fall, thankful for the gloves that save your hands from the pavement, wincing as your knees get scraped, the fabric of your jeans doing little to protect you. You want to lay there and never get up but you force yourself to your feet and you keep running until you get to the apartment. You stumble into the elevator and fall to your knees as it starts going up. Thank god your jeans are black. Thank god, thank god.

By the time the elevator gets to the top floor, you’ve forced yourself to stop crying. You adjust your shades, clear your throat. Once you’re sure you look as normal as you’re going to get, you step out of the elevator and unlock the door to your apartment.

It’s so late. David is still awake, making noise in the kitchen. It smells like food. He’s probably giving Dirk a late night snack. When he hears you, he greets you with a, “hey! It’s really fucking late. What happened?” But he doesn’t come out of the kitchen.

You don’t answer. You feel the wad of bills pressing against your ass. All for the babies. You walk on unsteady legs to the bathroom. You take the money out of your pocket and place it in your hat, which you put on the toilet seat, right side up so it hides your earnings. You practically rip your clothes off and shove them into the hamper. You climb into the shower and turn the water as hot as it will go and you lay there on your side because your ass hurts so fucking much. You cry harder than you did when Ro told you she was pregnant. The scene just keeps replaying itself in your head. He’s going to find you again. He’s going to fuck you again. You’re selling yourself for money. You just sold yourself for money. No one can know. No one can know. It’s all for the babies. All for the babies. The babies. The fucking babies.

You’ve never felt more disgusting in your entire life. You throw up until you can't anymore. Blood and bile flow down the drain, like your sins being washed off. They will never be washed off.

* * *

You’re still crying and sobbing and choking when you sit up and start scrubbing every inch of yourself down with soap. Your ass has stopped bleeding. You scrubbed that too even though you were shaking so bad because of the pain that you dropped the washcloth about five times. Your skin is clean but you’ll always be dirty. This will always be a stain deep inside you, something that no one will be able to see or feel except you.

* * *

You don’t know how long you’ve been laying in the tub. The water isn’t as burning hot as it was when you first turned it on and you can’t remember if you lowered the temperature or if the water’s just turning cold on it’s own. You think maybe you passed out. You vaguely remember finally having that panic attack.

A knock on the door. It opens and it’s David. You can see his figure from behind the shower curtain. A smaller figure is squirming beside him. He’s even jumping a little. You think you can hear, over the sound of the shower, little whimpers.

“Sorry. Dirk’s really gotta go.”

You want to scream for them to get out, just get the fuck out _you need to be alone_. You grip the curtain, your arm feeling like lead. “Get. Out.” Despite how much your throat hurts and how exhausted you are there’s so much malice in your words it scares you.

David hesitates. You pull back the curtain just a little. David’s looking down at Dirk and Dirk is almost crying, clutching at himself, his legs crossed. You should feel bad. He's just a kid. Not even three yet. He's so bad at holding it to begin with, it's a wonder why David's girlfriend wanted to start potty training now.

You don’t feel bad at all. You never liked him.

“He can't hold it. We’ll be quick, I promise.” You clench your fist but say nothing. You’re pretty sure even if you did scream at them that David wouldn’t listen because Dirk is full on crying now, a little trickle of pee sliding down his leg. David tries to shush him, rushing him over to the training potty on the floor. He manages to get Dirk’s underwear off but Dirk’s already peeing. He’s still crying, his little hands hiding his eyes that are just like yours.

David shoots you an annoyed look as he runs his fingers through Dirk’s pale blond hair, down his back, rubbing in gentle circles.

“Shh, shh. ‘S okay. You made it, see? I’m so proud of you.” He pushes away those little hands and cups Dirk’s face, kissing his soft cheeks. “So proud.”

You wonder how long he’d been holding it. Not nearly as long as you had, that’s for sure. You wish he didn’t cry so damn much. He doesn’t have a right to cry.

Dirk hiccups. Coughs. He trembles as he pees as if he's scared. Maybe he’s scared of you. You don’t feel bad because of him. You feel a pang in your gut because your bro is annoyed at you.

“What happened tonight? You came home really late.”

You pull the curtain closed, shutting your eyes tightly and trying to immerse yourself in the sensation of the water falling over your aching body. “Job hunting.”

There’s a silence. He probably doesn't believe you. You hear movement; David murmuring reassurances to Dirk as he finishes up, the tearing of toilet paper, soft sniffles and hiccups. The faucet is turned on. David grunts a little, presumably holding Dirk up to the sink to wash his hands. He’s still sniffling. You see the silhouettes of them against the curtain. David’s holding Dirk to his chest, cooing to him and stroking his hair, and you wish he’d hold you like that. But then he might be tainted just like you. You can’t do that to him.

“Get to sleep soon, alright?”

You don’t answer. He waits for a few moments, then he leaves with a sigh. He’s going to put Dirk to bed, and by that it means he’s going to lay with Dirk in his bed and hold him all night. The bed is going to be soaked when he wakes up tomorrow but he won’t care, because he loves that kid. You wonder if you’ll love your kids that much when they come.

* * *

You don’t know how much time passes, but eventually you drag yourself from the bathroom, pull on a t-shirt, and climb into bed. Everything still hurts, but it’s not throbbing as harshly as it was before. Water does miracles. And despite how exhausted you are, you don’t fall asleep until the sun is just peaking up over the horizon. You dreams are plagued with dark, disgusting alleyways and men who fuck you for money.

 


End file.
